


Crash Landing

by deprough



Series: The Quill Brothers - in SPACE! [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crossover, Descriptions of awfulness, Family You Make, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deprough/pseuds/deprough
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter crash lands on a primitive world and finds more than an ally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have read the books but am not 100% familiar with the Game of Thrones television show; likewise, all I know of Guardians comes from the MCU. My Games of Thrones characters are a mix of book and show, while I've tried to remain true to the Guardian characters as much as I can.

“Yondu is gonna kill me.” Peter Quill had uttered those words before but never had he believed they might be true. Well, not since that one time Yondu had threatened to let the crew eat him. He believed then, as scared kids will. 

He was a scared kid again. Peter’s hands were shaking as he pulled himself out of the cockpit of the ship, staring at the damage done by his horrible landing. “Holy shit,” he breathed, staring at the gouge of dirt and earth that had been kicked up behind him. Trees in his path were shattered or leaned drunkly away from the massive slip ‘n slide he’d made. 

Despite the precariousness of his situation, the teen was a little impressed with the carnage. 

It struck him that he was exposed out here, standing on his hull and staring at the forest like an idiot. He ducked into the ship and grabbed some gloves and tools. As he climbed back out, he paused as an acerbic, familiar scent hit his nose. “Ah, shit!” 

He hopped off the nose of the ship and hurried around the side, stopping when he saw the last of the fuel drip away into the ground. “Oh, shit, shit, shit!” 

Peter stopped and grabbed his head, trying to clear it. For several minutes, all he could think was, _Yondu is gonna kill me so hard_. 

Gradually the panic passed and Peter started thinking. Okay, first step was obviously to patch the fuel tank. He couldn’t do anything until that was done. Then he could worry about replacing the fuel. 

In the middle of fucking nowhere on a primitive planet. 

“No problem. I can do this.” Peter took a deep breath and went to get the scrap steel from the hold. He’d welded before, helping Ravagers repair ships, so that wasn’t daunting. It’s more that he was by himself in a strange place without anyone to help. For the first time, Peter had no one else but himself, and he didn’t like it. 

It was dark before he was done, and he finished by the light of a fire. At least, he hoped he was finished. The only way to be sure was to put fuel in it but he’d only be able to do that once. He could test it with another liquid but if it held, he’d have no way to drain the tank completely. Worse, the repairs could totally hold while in the atmosphere and then rupture out in space. Just the thought of testing his welds made his palms sweat because it was do-or-die, no second chances. 

The forest came alive with sounds as darkness fell; Peter poked the fire to be sure it would stay lit. He heard something that sounded like an owl, and another thing that sounded like a wolf - there were even bugs that make that annoying buzzing noise he used to hate in summer. Or the sound was close enough that it doesn’t matter. 

Peter slipped his hands behind his head and sat back against the ship. The orange and blue hull was marred by his shit-ass repair job and he felt guilty about that. The ship had been beautiful, until he’d crashed it. Her sexiness was why he’d “borrowed” it for a quick ride in the first place. Yondu hadn’t even named her yet or given her to one of the shipless Ravagers. Peter knew he was years away from his own ship; that was another reason he’d grabbed it. He wouldn’t get another chance to pilot something this sexy for a long time. 

Now he’d probably never get a chance because Yondu? Yondu was going to fucking kill him. 

Peter moved his hands and slammed his head back against the hull. “I’ve never been laid. I’ll die an eighteen year old virgin. This _sucks._ ” 

Something screamed in the dark forest as if it agreed with him. 

Peter checked to be sure his gun was in his holster. When nothing tried to kill him, he went back to staring at the fire. He _could_ just stay here and see if Yondu found him. If he didn’t, he could die an old man. On a primitive planet in the middle of fucking nowhere because that was the life he dreamed of, _yes sir_! 

No. He had to try. Yondu might still have to rescue him but if the leader of the crew found out Peter hadn’t even tried to get himself out of this bind - and he would find out, because knowing when Peter had fucked up was one of his more annoying talents - he _would_ kill him. Would probably let the crew eat him, too. 

Well, at least he’d fixed the tank. That was step one. Tomorrow’s problem: finding ship fuel on a planet that had no signs of advanced life. 

“Fuckin’ awesome.” He slumped to the ground, punched his jacket into something approximating a pillow, and went to sleep.

 

*  *  *

 

Peter woke up determined to be in a good mood. Dusting his pants off, he grabbed a protein bar and went over the rest of the ship while chowing down. All the other damage was superficial and he’d fixed the tank. So now he just had to figure out the fuel issue. He climbed back in the ship and got out his walkman. Slipping on the headphones, he laid down on the top of the ship. As the comforting tones of Blue Swede’s _Hooked on a Feeling_ filled his ears, he got down to some serious thinking. 

It only took two hours before he had a potential solution. That was pretty damn impressive considering that he’d accidentally taken a ninety minute map and had spent a chunk of the rest of the time masturbating. When was he going to have this much uninterrupted privacy again? He couldn’t let that go to waste. 

Climbing back inside the ship, he checked the reserve tank. There wasn’t enough fuel to do more than get him into orbit, which was a start but then he’d be in orbit without power which was not a good place to be. However, he had remembered something about these M-ships: the reason Yondu preferred them was that they were pretty damned tough and tolerated a lot of abuse, including running on shitty fuel. Horuz had once told him that if you could even use a strong alcohol as fuel, _especially_ if you mixed it with regular fuel. They’d need to break down and clean both of the one-ton engines after but Peter would happily do that himself if he 1) survived getting off the planet and 2) survived Yondu. 

All he had to do was find some kickass booze. “God, I hope twenty-one isn’t the legal limit here,” he muttered to himself as he checked his pistol’s charge. If worst came to worst, he would just steal it. 

Assuming that there were people here at all. Otherwise, he was going to have to brew a few hundred gallons of booze himself. With one last check to be sure he had everything, including some scrap metal to show what he had to trade, Peter picked a random direction and started walking.

 

*  *  *

 

It was about noon before he stumbled across a creek. From there, he just followed it downstream, knowing that people liked to live near clean water. Sooner or later, he should find some. It was almost relaxing, walking through all this nature and listening to his music. 

By nightfall, he was reconsidering the possibility that he’d have to brew his own fuel. He should stop and make a fire, even rest, but he wanted to go a bit further. Had he stopped, he probably would have missed the fire but it was a little hard to miss after full dark. Fire meant people and Peter took a deep breath, hoping they were friendly. 

He was twenty feet away when a shadow stirred and became a man. “Halt and announce yourself!” 

“Jesus!” Peter jumped back and raised his hands. He couldn’t see well but the guy had some kind of big ass knife, or maybe a small sword. Regardless, it was longer than he was deep and Peter became dedicated to keeping it out of his torso. “Whoa, whoa, relax, dude. Look, hands up!”

“Name yourself!” the guard barked again in a gruff voice. 

“Peter Quill! Though you might know me as Star Lord.” He started to take a step back but something poked him in the back. He risked a look over his shoulder to see a man in plate armor pushing a pointy piece of metal between his shoulder blades. This one definitely was a sword, no question about it. A really awesome yet situationally stupid overcompensation joke popped into his head and Peter choked it back. He was only selectively stupid. “Oh, _hi_ , there. Didn’t see you.” 

“Move forward, into the light of the fire, if you please.” Not only was plate armor more polite but he sounded more cultured as well. He hadn’t removed his helmet but Peter had little hope of that happening just yet. 

“Sure, no problem, no problem at all.” The fire was where he wanted to be anyway, so Peter walked forward until he could see the men clustered around it. They were dirty and ragged, most with scraggly beards grown for convenience, not style. There were about twenty of them, all dressed in old-fashioned kind of armors. Further back, he could see tents and a string of horses. Everything was red and gold and someone had a serious hard on for lions. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”

They understood his words but clearly didn’t get his slang. That opened up some fun possibilities but he was more interested in the fact that most of these men appeared to be some kind of military unit. Also, they appeared to be stuck in the middle ages, which wasn’t the best news in the world. Peter had a feeling that asking for some booze for his spaceship probably wouldn’t go well. 

The man in the full suit walked around him until he could see Peter’s face. Holding his sword loosely but at at the ready, Full Suit asked, “What are you doing in these woods? What lands do you rule, Lord Star?” 

“It’s _Star Lord_ , and I was lost and looking for civilization.” As he spoke another man came up and started to pat him down. Peter winced when the man got a little rough with the Walkman but the guy didn’t break it. He also didn’t seem to realize that Peter’s pistol was a weapon; he pulled it out and looked at it, then shoved it back in the holster. He did remove Peter’s shoulder bag and take it to Full Suit, showing him the contents. 

“Lost? Where are you from?” Full Suit asked, sounding like he was frowning. 

“Thataway.” Peter pointed a few degrees off where the ship was and hoped they didn’t ask him about the geography. 

Of course, Full Suit did, since he was out to ruin Peter’s day. “From Oxcross?” 

“No, small little hut on my own in the middle of nowhere.” Peter hated not being able to lie better than that but he had literally nothing more to add. These guys were locals and knew the area. 

“Where are you bound, Lord Quill?” 

“Lor- oh, uh, Star Lord.” He was pretty sure that these guys would be dicks about his not actually being nobility. It was pretty cool they were calling him by his other name, though. “Somewhere I can trade my ore.” Peter tried his best make-friends smile. “Know where I can do that?” 

“Depends on what you seek. Whose lands are you from?” Full Suit was not giving this up. 

Peter decided that ignorance was the next best tactic to try. “Uh, the locals. You know. The guys? Around here?” 

“The _Lannisters_?” Full Suit said it in a snotty voice that made Peter want to shoot him, because he talked like the bullies at school who made fun of the slow kids. Which made Peter the slow kid in this case with no protector in sight. 

“Yeah, the _Lannisters_.” Peter shouldn’t have but he put the same inflection into his tone. “Them.” 

The men snickered and Peter had a bad feeling. “Then tell me,” Full Suit said, “what is the Lannister heraldry?” 

This required quick thinking, so of course it took him a second too long to come up with even a lame response. He remembered something about heraldry from the King Arthur stories but that wasn’t helping right now. “Uh, how do I know that _you_ know what their heraldry looks like?” 

Full Suit laughed even louder and took off his helmet. Underneath was a disgustingly good looking guy, the kind of blond, noble look that gets all the babes in the movies. Shaking out white-gold hair, he said, “Because I am Jaime Lannister, eldest son of Lord Tywin Lannister.” 

“Oh.” Peter made a last attempt at wit and hoped he was guessing right. “Then the Lannister heraldry is a red background with a big ole angry lion.” 

Jaime stared at him before laughing again but this time he’d lost the cruel edge to his voice. “Very good. Now that you have managed not to lie to me once, let’s keep going. Except now, if I think you’re lying to me, I’m going to have one of my men cut off a finger. One per lie.” 

Peter stared at him, trying to decide if this guy was for real. Then one of the men behind him grabbed his arm and dragged him to a tree truck. The thug pressed his hand flat against the truck. Three others joined him, grabbing Peter in a nightmare of big man-hands and some literally breath-taking B.O. “Hey! Hey!” Peter struggled but he was vastly outnumbered. 

_The second I see a blade, I’m pulling my gun._ Peter put his hand on the butt of his pistol, not that he believed he’d get it out long enough to actually shoot the asshole with a girl’s name. 

“Now, where are you from? I have never heard of a Lord Star.” Jaime asked. 

“God, it’s _Star Lord_ , and it’s a far away land called Terra!” Peter tried to sound tough but there was only so much tough he can manage when he was trying to keep all his fingers while his balls tried to crawl up inside of him from fear. 

Jaime frowned and Peter prepared to try for a shot. “I’ve never heard of it.” The asshole’s eyes dropped to the front of the bag, noting the Ravager’s symbol on it. 

He didn’t say, “ _off with his finger_ ” so Peter merely babbled, “Yeah, new lands, far away, we’re just getting over here to Lannister lands.” Then he clamped his lips shut before he babbled his way into more trouble. 

Jaime looked in the bag again and lifted out a piece of the scrap metal he’d grabbed this morning. Everyone watched in silence as the man considered it. “And does this ore come from there?” 

“No, no-no-no. We trade for it. I need booze.” Peter sighed when Jaime looked quizzically at him but he still had all his fingers so he smiled as he said, “Spirits. Liquor. Wine? Beer?  Well,” he amended with a wag of his head, “I need strong stuff. Stronger the better.” 

Jaime smiled and Peter got a bad feeling. “Why didn’t you say you were here to trade first? We could have avoided this unpleasantness.” The men holding him let go of him as Jaime hefted the bag. “I assume that this is a gift for my father? A tribute?” 

_Oh, you asshole._ “Most of it. I do need a piece or two to show to potential buyers-” 

“Nonsense. My father has all the fine wine you need and will be happy to trade for your ore.” Jaime Lannister closed the bag decisively. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to see him.” 

Funny how he hated that he got exactly what he wanted. _This place had better not be a dump._

 

*  *  *

 

After a night jammed into a spare bedroll and sleeping between two soldiers who smelled like they bathed in horse sweat and despair, Peter was tossed up on a horse behind one of the officers. This guy only smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a while, which was a step up. When the horse took off, he nearly fell off backwards. 

Everyone laughed at him, especially Lord Jaime-With-A-Girl’s-Name. Peter thought about shooting him again but decided he probably shouldn’t make that kind of decision without some coffee in his system first. 

Mornings were rough enough without adding in horses and assholes, and Peter was so messed up he missed his first glimpse of Casterly Rock. He had to wait until they had cleared the trees and he could see the thing in its entirety. 

_Holy shit!_ Peter wasn’t sure how he kept his mouth shut when he saw the towering fortress carved into rock. If you squinted and looked really closely, you could see the shape of the hill that had been there before they started cutting into it. Now, there were two mounds left, connected by a single stone bridge. The castle wasn’t on top of the higher hump, it was inside it. Peter could see people walking in and out of it. Even better, a sprawling town spread away from it like a suburb. 

Lord Jaime was recognized as they passed through town, where he was greeted with cheers. He at least acknowledged their praise with waves and smiles. Peter was willing to bet that none of them had actually talked to the lord and didn’t know that he was a dick. 

100% Grade-A Dick at that. 

The men rode up into the first hump of the hill and dismounted, letting servants lead the horses away. Man, these guys were loaded if their _horses_ have servants. As Peter considered what this could mean - he bet Yondu would be happy to come and relieve some of these people of their excess money - Lord Dick led him deeper into the castle. 

They walked through carved hallways and caverns for a while before stopping at a door. When Jaime knocked, a man called, “Come in.” 

The man behind the door was tall and broad. Peter had to choke back a laugh because while the man was bald, he had grown out some crazy blond sideburns like some kind of deranged actor from an old-timey play. Then the man looked right at him and Peter didn’t feel like laughing anymore. There was the same hard, ungiving look in his eyes that Yondu had and Peter prepared himself for a fight. 

Oddly, they weren’t meeting in a throne room but this was clearly this man’s office. The nice space radiated functionality and discipline, from the rack of scrolls on one wall to the thick oak desk. The man behind it had that same feeling of stick-up-assness that Peter had come to dread in his time with the Ravagers. “Jaime. Is this our guest?

“Father, this is Star Lord Peter Quill, come to us from Terra.” Jaime paused and added, “Or so he claims.” 

The lord of the keep turned stern green eyes on Peter and he wished he’d had a chance to shave that morning. He immediately repressed the urge: he shaved when he _wanted,_ not for asshole lords. “Hey there.” Peter offered a hand. 

“Star Lord Quill, this is my father, Lord Tywin Lannister.” Jaime had the look on his face that said Peter had stepped on his lines. Peter wondered how he could shit on them instead. 

Lord Tywin eyed the hand like a snake. “I’ve not heard of the lands of Terra.” 

“You wouldn’t, very far away.” Peter knew he was smiling like a smug asshole but he couldn’t stop because Jaime was 100% Dick and it appeared to be inherited from the men in his family. 

“You are here to trade?” Tywin still hadn’t taken his hand. Peter left it out there like a penis hanging out of an tuxedo at a rich person’s party - firm and unwelcome. 

“My ore for your spirits. Wine.” Peter met the man’s gaze, determined not to flinch. This guy didn’t even have a Yata arrow. 

Tywin stared at him for a long moment. “I’ll have my smiths assess the ore. Tonight, you’ll be our guest. Jaime, would you find Tyrion and have him show Star Lord Quill the castle?” 

Jaime looked really unhappy at that and Peter decided that he liked Tyrion already. “Yes, Father.” 

It made Peter really uncomfortable that when Jaime said that to his father, it sounded like when Peter said “Yes, Yondu” to him. 

He followed Jaime down several levels, hopelessly lost. Gradually, the dick stopped in front of another door and knocked. “Come in!” This voice was younger than Tywiener had been but just as bitchy. 

Jaime opened the door, smiling. Peter noted it was a real smile, like Jaime was happy to be here. The kid in the room hopped down from the desk and came toward them with a weird rolling gait- 

Not a kid. A dwarf. 

Peter judged him to be a little younger than himself, with pale blond hair. He had a coarse face but a genuine smile as he saw Jaime. When he looked at Peter, eyes curious, Peter saw that one was green and one black. The kid wasn’t nearly as handsome as Jaime and never would be but there was an honesty about him that was nice after all this smiling assholishness. 

“Jaime, you’re back. Who is our guest?” The dwarf grasped Jaime’s hand firmly, and Jaime put a hand on his shoulder when they stood side by side. 

“Tyrion, this is Star Lord Peter Quill. Star Lord Quill, this is my younger brother, Tyrion.” Jaime’s gaze was protective when he looked at Peter again, and the Ravager dialed back the guy’s dick level to about 90%. Anyone who had a soft spot for their little brother like this couldn’t be all bad. 

“Call me Peter.” He offered his hand and Tyrion shook it. 

“Then I am Tyrion.” The kid seemed a little taken aback but not upset about it. 

“Why did not offer such to me, Peter?” Jaime asked. 

Peter looked at him, wondering if he was taking offense. He didn’t look like he was so Peter decided to be truthful and see where that got him. “I like Tyrion more.” 

Both brothers seemed startled, staring at Peter like he was some new creature. Peter wondered if everyone expected him to hate Tyrion because he didn’t look like everyone else. Since he was eight, he’d been surrounded by people who didn’t look like him or anyone else on the ship. It gave him a broader perspective. 

Jaime recovered first. “Then I guess it’s just as well that Father wants you to show him around the castle.” 

Tyrion didn’t seem as happy. “Of course,” he said politely, giving Jaime a frown that turned into a smile when he glanced back at Peter. “Would you like to go now? Or do you need to freshen up?” 

Peter laughed. “Do I smell that badly of horse and sweaty man?” 

Tyrion chuckled softly, as if he wasn’t sure he should laugh. “A little, perhaps.” 

“Then how about you show me somewhere I can do that?” Peter always liked to kill two birds with one stone. 

Tyrion showed him to a room where there was a bowl, water, and towels. It wasn’t a shower but he washed his face, pits, and hands. He felt better already and even better than being clean, they left Jaime behind. Now that they were dick-free, Peter relaxed for the first time since slipping into the M-ship. Once he was ready, Tyrion started walking and touring. 

The guy knew his family’s history. Peter tuned most of it out - like usual - enjoying the castle itself and making appropriate noises at the right time. This worked right until Tyrion said, “My father meant to insult you by having me guide you.” 

“Yes- Wait, what?” Peter laughed. “Really? Because he got that _totally_ wrong.” 

Tyrion gave him a look that hurt Peter’s heart - yes, the part of him that Yondu had tried to crush out of him years ago, the part of him that started fights with bigger boys who killed little frogs who ain’t done nothing. It was the look of someone who had been so kicked and beaten that he couldn’t trust someone actually liking him.

“Come on, I’m told you guys have good wine here.” Peter rubbed his mouth. “I need something to drink.”


	2. Chapter 2

Casterly Rock did not have an age limit for anything. Peter saw little kids laboring next to adults, then grabbing wineskins and grabbing a drink. “Is that - uh, normal?” He was trying not to let on that the drink was making him drunk but he’d never had a chance to build a tolerance. Yondu had found out that Terrans had a legal limit of twenty-one and somehow got the impression that it was a medically necessary limit, not a moral one. That or he just liked fucking with Peter. Either one was completely possible, but the end result was the same: a dwarf younger than him was drinking him under the table. The table in question was literally one of the dining tables in the great hall, though right now it was in the middle of the afternoon and therefore empty.

“What?” Tyrion asked, glancing at him.

“Drinkin’ kids. God, I think-” Peter rubbed his face and gave up. “I think I need some water.”

His host gasped, looking horrified. “By the Seven, why?”

“To drink some water and reestablish the ratio of blood to alcohol in my-” What was the word? “Insides.”

“Water generally isn’t safe to drink. It can make you sick.” Tyrion waved for a servant. “Please bring him some milk.”

A horrifying thought came to Peter. “Is it cow milk?”

“What else would it be?”

“I dunno, your family seems the type to, oh, keep and milk something more exotic, like lions, or sumthin’.” Peter rubbed his face again.

Tyrion laughed as the servant returned with milk. “We used to keep lions but now that’s where we have our prisoners.”

Peter wasn’t drunk enough to ask about the kind of crimes that got you locked up in Lannister lands. Instead, he asked, “So what’s it like being the son of a noble?”

The kid paused and a leery look entered his eyes. “Aren’t you one?”

 _Peter, you are a dumbass._ “I meant a noble in, uh, Lannislands. _Lannister_ Lands. You guys need a shorter name. What’s it like being Lord Tywin’s kid?” Peter took a drink of the milk and nearly spit it out. It was _warm_ , like not warmed on the fire but fresh-from-the-animal warm, and thick. After a second, he swallowed anyway - it was rich in a way that milk from the store never had been. _I might like this._

Tyrion stiffened as he considered Peter’s question. Peter himself had forgotten he’d asked in the distraction of trying the milk. “I suppose it’s better than being the son of a crofter.” Bitterness clung to his words, mingled with pain. “I am hated by my father for taking his wife from him and for being a monster.”

“What! Dude, you’re not a monster. And what happened to your mom - not your fault.” Peter tried to shake off the inebriation faster. “Your dad is a dick.”

“He is a Lord of the Realm.” Tyrion spoke with pride and a touch of warning. “Your words could cause great offense.”

“Yeah, that’s my biggest worry.” Peter snorted derisively. “Look, I get your dad is powerful and could probably have me thrown in prison or order them to kill me. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to call him a bully when he is.” Damnit, Yondu should have let him drink. Then he would know he had zero filters when he’s drunk and prone to say _anything_. “That doesn’t mean I can’t get mad about the way he’s treating you.”

“Why do you care?” Tyrion looked away from him, staring across the room.

Peter ignored that the kid was trying not to cry. “I don’t like bullies. And you’re the nicest person here.”

“Excuse me. I need the cistern.” Tyrion stood and walked away quickly, and Peter knew why he was really using the cis-whatever.

Tomorrow, he’d have his wine and could attempt to leave. Tyrion would go on being hated by his dad and treated like shit. He stared down into his milk, scowling. “This _sucks._ ”

 

*  *  *

 

Dinner went better than the afternoon had, simply because Peter alternated milk with wine and was able to keep from being so soused he fucked everything up. Instead, he came off as slightly crass and even managed to be a little charming. It was easier to turn on the wisecracks and grins with Cersei there. She was tall and fair and blonde and had the most enchanting green eyes. The hot little minx was Jaime’s twin and Peter enjoyed a bit of light flirting with her through most of dinner. Nothing that would get him in trouble; he knew the line between charming-flirt and charming-into-bed-flirt. Not that the latter had worked yet but Peter was getting it down.

She ruined it with her first words to Tyrion. “So, little Imp, how go the cisterns and drains?” She wasn’t asking to be polite; Cersei was digging in a knife.

 _Imp?_ Peter scrunched up his face in a frown, his eyes darting to Tyrion. The little guy merely smiled and took a drink of wine. “I think that an issue with them would be apparent. The drains are truly a charge where no news is good news.”

“And the whoring?” Her smile was as sharp as a dagger.

Tyrion froze with hurt and anger.

“Seriously? You’re interested in your brother’s sex life?” Peter spoke before he really thought about the words.

The mean glare in her eyes ripped away much of her prettiness. She was just like the cheerleaders in those high school movies - vain, shallow, and cruel. A bully, just like her dad. “I’m interested in how his actions reflect on House Lannister.”

“Oh, well, _that_ is all right, I guess.” Peter let the sarcasm leech through his voice.

“This is none of your concern, Star Lord.” Cersei stared down her nose at him.

“Then don’t bring it up when I’m trying to eat.” Peter stuffed a piece of some kind of bird into his mouth to prove his point.

That pretty much killed any conversation at his end of the table. Even Tyrion didn’t engage in anymore discussion and Peter knew the kid could talk. Eventually, he excused himself and was relieved when only Tyrion followed him. Peter wandered into a garden and leaned on a wall, watching the moths flit around the torches.

“You know, if you keep insulting my family, my father is going to have you imprisoned despite how good your ore is.” Tyrion glanced up at him and Peter saw the warning hidden in the jest.

Peter sighed and took another drink of milk from the cup he’d snagged on leaving the table. “Yeah, I know. I’m a smart ass. Yondu keeps smacking me for it but I don’t learn.”

“Sounds like an issue.” Tyrion had already caught the meaning of that word, or at least what Peter meant when he used it. The kid was a fast learner. “You have mentioned Yondu before. Is he your father?”

“Sorta, I mean, not really. No, he’s my kidnapper.” Of course, Peter’s feelings on his captain are complex. “He did kidnap me but since then, he’s been like a dad. I guess. I mean, I didn’t know mine, so I don’t have much to compare it with, ya know?” Tyrion was still looking at him, waiting for more, so Peter said, “I mean, he’s threatened to let the crew eat me but he didn’t _let_ them. He hits me but only when I’m not paying attention, which is the same he does to all the crew. But I’m his favorite.” Peter grinned widely; he’d figured out how to wrap the man around his pinkie - in a manner of speaking - within a week. He’d had to or Yondu probably would have let the crew eat him. Realizing too late that was really insensitive to say to Tyrion, he hastily added, “Still, at least you get to live in a big castle. Probably easy to avoid your old man when you don’t want to see him.”

Tyrion snorted. “My father does not let me dictate when we see one another.”

“Being a noble is pretty cool, right?” Peter was a little drunk, a fact he caught too late to not imply that he wasn’t a noble. Of course, Tyrion could just assume that he was a noble who was kidnapped so that wasn’t quite a lie-

“My father put me in charge of all the cisterns and drains in the castle.” Tyrion’s voice was flat and emotionless, like it was when one of the Ravagers had seen too much fighting and Yondu would stop sending them out to fight. “I do well to spite him.”

“That’s the spirit. Get him back for being a bully.” Peter grinned at the shorter teen.

“He found out I married a whore in secret, thinking her merely lowborn. He had his guardsmen take her, and gave her a silver for each one.” Tyrion still spoke in that creepy monotone. “Then he made me do the same, and pay her a gold. Lannisters are worth more, you see. What would you suggest I do to repay him for that?”

Peter couldn’t close his mouth. His jaw hung open as he tried to process what Tyrion had just told him. Finally, he managed to say, “That, dude, that is- That is _so fucked up_.” As the shock receded, it was replaced by rage. “That was - Jesus, Tyrion, that’s-” He paced back and forth a few steps, searching for the words. “Cruel. That’s fucking cruel!” He swallowed. “What happened to your wife?”

“The marriage was annulled. I never saw her again.” Tyrion looked out over the dark garden. “She was after my family’s money.”

“Still! Jesus, just divorce her, don’t _gang-rape_ her and-” Peter cut off his rant. “Tyrion, when did this happen?”

“Two years ago.”

Peter stared at him. “How old are you?”

“I was fourteen, if that’s what you want to know.” Tyrion still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Fuck, your dad did that to a fourteen year old. To his own son.” Peter sat down on a bench, struggling with the revelation, with his anger, and what to do about it.

The answer came in a bolt of inspiration. Yondu would hate it but Peter could talk him around to it. Licking his lips nervously, he put together the argument in his head. Clearing his throat, he set down the milk and said, “Wanna be kidnapped?”

“What?” Tyrion finally turned to face him, shock breaking through the emotional distance that he had been wearing like armor.

Peter held up his hands. “Hear me out. Your dad is 100% Dick, a 110% Dick. He treats you like shit for reasons that you have no control of. He’s a bigoted douchebag. So just leave.”

“It seems like giving him what he wants.” Tyrion looked torn. “He’d never let me go, anyway. The affront to the family would be too great.”

“He’s not _letting_ you do shit if I kidnap you. And he will never find you - he’ll never mind Terra, not for about ten centuries.” Peter put his hands on Tyrion’s shoulders. “I _want_ you to come with me. There are things out there that you won’t believe, wonders that I can’t even begin to describe.”

“He’ll find me.” Tyrion stepped away from him.

“I swear, dude, never. Not in a thousand years. Scout’s honor.” Peter rubbed his face, trying to figure out how to get him up there. An idea presented itself but it was kinda dickish. Peter could admit that he was an asshole; he just liked to think he wasn’t a total dick.

“I can help you get the wine, without going through my father. We’ll get you what you need tonight and you can leave now, if you want.” Tyrion offered his hand. “For what you offered to do for me, that’s the least I can do.”

Peter felt unmanly emotions rising. Pinching his lips together, he took Tyrion’s hand. “Thanks man. You’re better than they deserve.”

“Jaime is good to me, too. You haven’t seen it yet.” Tyrion waved. “Come, let’s put my tendency to whoring to good use.”

Peter felt his eyes widen. “Uh, okay.”

Wait, Tyrion had lost his cherry at fourteen, and Peter still hadn’t? Shit but life was unfair.

 

*  *  *

 

Tyrion put his whoring to very good use by slipping Peter out of Casterly Rock and down into Lannisport that night. The young noble was clearly well-known and the guards didn’t think twice about the dwarf taking his new friend out to get laid. Peter hoped the guards didn’t get beheaded or anything for this tomorrow. The benefit to Peter wasn’t getting him laid but in arranging to buy the needed wine from the owner of the whore house.

Tyrion pulled some gold from a bag and flat out paid for all the wine, then paid the owner to hire some men to move it. Peter could only stare as Tyrion neatly removed all the obstacles in his path. Within two hours, three wagons loaded with casks of wine were ready to go. They even had drivers.

“You are a miracle worker!” Peter grinned down at the shorter noble, clapping him on the shoulder.

Tyrion shrugged modestly. “Lannister gold can carry one far.”

“Come and at least see my ship.” Peter needed him to do this - he needed to get Tyrion out there so he could move to the next step of the dick-for-his-own-good plan. Tyrion hesitated, longing in his face. “Seriously, it’s really close. You’ll be back by breakfast.”

“All right.” Tyrion nodded and smiled, and Peter relaxed.

It took the better part of the night to get back to where he’d left the ship. With his tracker, he was able to follow his own footsteps back to the ship though they had to wind about circularly because of the wagons. When the light of the torch fell on the sleek paint of the M-ship, Peter heard the four natives gasp. The horses seemed unmoved.

“Huh, right?” he said, turning with his arms out. “Awesome, right?”

“What _is_ that?” Tyrion asked in a reverent whisper.

“My ship, dude.” He hopped over to the side panel with the emergency fueling hatch - used only in situations where you couldn’t hook directly to the fuel dispenser - and opened the cap. It was about a foot wide, since the designer had kindly decided that if you were using the emergency hatch they should make it wide enough to accommodate any number of containers. “Bring a wine cask over here.”

Nothing happened and he peered around the ship. The four men were staring open-mouthed. Peter sighed. “Come on, I know I’m violating the Prime Directive but it’s not like I have a choice. I need help.”

Tyrion was the first to move. “Go. There’s ten extra silver in it for each of you.” He pulled out the silver and held it up, letting it glint in the light. The three men moved, slowly at first and then with increasing confidence as nothing terrible happened to them.

Peter hurried back to the hatch. After some mental calculations, they punched a hole in the top of the cask and poured it in. “Keep doing that,” he ordered and moved around to his patch job. There was a small leak. “Damnit, stop.”

Tyrion had followed him around the side. The dwarf watched in silence as Peter lit the torch and started to patch the area. It wasn’t a great idea; he caught the wine on fire a couple of times but it was easy to just let it burn off and then keep going. “All right, try again!” Peter waited tensely but this time, the leak held. “Yes!”

“What is all this?” Tyrion slid his fingers over the ship’s hull uncertainly.

Peter gathered his thoughts. “Remember how I said that there wonders I couldn’t describe? This, this beautiful sexy ship, is only the first of them. There’s a whole new world out there.” That dumb song from _Aladdin_ tried to get in his brain but he ignored it. _Come on, man, you’re going to resent not taking this chance if you stay here. If you dad doesn’t arrange an accident for you someday._

Tyrion cleared his throat. “Where does the cargo go?”

Peter swallowed his victorious grin. “Let me give you the tour.” He climbed into the cockpit and helped Tyrion up, noting that he’d need to build him something to get him up here if he came. The kid looked at the room in dumbstruck wonder. “It’s overwhelming, I know. I felt the same way at first.”

“When you were kidnapped?” Tyrion tried to smile.

Peter nodded. “Pretty much. It got better, once I got my footing.” He didn’t say, _It’d be the same for you_ , because Tyrion was smarter than that. Tyrion just nodded and glanced down the ladder into the lower levels, and Peter took that as a cue.

He led Tyrion down into the living area, showed him where the ships’ pilots would sleep - whoever Yondu gave her to - and the hold under that. Then, because it was Tyrion and Peter was pretty sure he’d do anything for the little guy now, he’d gotten under his skin that badly, he showed him the engine. “This makes it go. Makes it move. I can show you, once we’re ready.”

Tyrion smiled. “I’d like that.”

That was the last piece to Peter’s dick-move plan but he just played it cool. “Sure thing. Let’s see if they have the fuel loaded yet.”

The sun was creeping up over the horizon by the time the last of the casks were emptied into the ship. Peter shut the emergency fuel hatch and crossed his fingers. He got back in the cockpit and was relieved when Tyrion followed. “Here, strap into the copilot seat, just to be safe.” The buckles were made to hold a variety of body shapes and sizes and fit around his little buddy easily. Peter took the primary pilot seat and strapped himself in; he might actually need the protection of the harnesses if this didn’t work.

“What are you doing?” Tyrion watched in silence as long as he could before curiosity got the better of him.

“I’m doing a preflight check while the computer cycles the two fuel tanks.” Peter answered honestly - not that he _hadn’t_ been totally honest, he just hadn’t been very specific until now.

The computer finished cycling the wine and fuel just as Tyrion asked, “Pre _flight_?”

“Yep.” The boards were green and Peter hit the orange button on the start screen. The M-ship rose into the air with a roar, rising twenty feet in seconds. Tyrion made a choked noise but Peter was way more concerned with the way the engine ran smoothly for the first ten seconds only to have the pitch of the engine rise sharply. _Come on, baby._ “Come on . . .”

The sun blinded them but Peter didn’t dare even turn the ship. He didn’t want to lose any momentum in a turn. He still wasn’t sure that he was going to make orbit, much less have anything left for getting back to the _Eclector_.

Most importantly, he definitely did not have enough fuel to get Tyrion back to the surface without grounding himself.

 _I have finally kidnapped someone._ Peter felt good and bad about that but didn’t have time for much thought on that matter as the M-ship passed the edge of blue and into the black of space. He clenched his teeth tight as the vacuum of space enveloped them but the patch held in the void, too.

“Where are we?” Tyrion asked breathlessly.

“We’re in the stars.” Peter glanced over at him, grinning at the pure wonder on Tyrion’s face. “Still wanna go home?”

“There’s more to know? Than you’ve already shown me? Are there books I can read?” Tyrion’s answer was written in his eyes and his face but Peter understood why he still asked.

Peter laughed. “Man, there are better things than books. They’re called data pads.” He dug one out and gave Tyrion a crash course in how to work it. Then while the kidnapped noble was distracted, Peter pinged the location of the _Eclector_ and set a course for the mothership.

 _Twenty hours or so._ They might have enough fuel to get there. Of course, Yondu could and definitely would trace an M-ship ping, particularly since Peter had been missing long enough to be noticed. More than likely, Yondu was on his way.

Peter pulled on his headphones and turned on the Mix Tape. _Come and Get Your Love_ poured into his ears and he started to ponder his next problem: Yondu. He had to make the captain 1) see the value in not killing Peter for taking the M-ship and 2) see the value in not killing Tyrion out of pique. Peter wasn’t sure what that was exactly but Yondu did bad things when he was having what Kraglin called a fit of pique. It seemed to mean ‘when Yondu lost his temper and let the crew eat people’.

They couldn’t eat Tyrion. Peter wouldn’t let them.

 

*  *  *

 

The _Eclector_ appeared in front of them, far enough ahead of them that Peter had plenty of time to slow down. The engines were now operating with a nasty high-pitched whine, and Peter knew he was going to catch a world of shit for that alone.

As he started to line up for docking, a form in a suit detached itself from the ship and floated toward him. Peter sighed as the Ravager oriented toward the ship, the lens of their environment helmet shining a bright red. “Who is that?” Tyrion asked.

“Someone to dock the ship. Someone-” _Yondu, the asshole._ “-doesn’t think I can park this baby.” Peter considered locking the airlocks but knew it’d be seen as petulant. He _was_ feeling a little petulant but that really pissed Yondu off. “You’re about to meet your first Ravager. Probably Kraglin or Horuz-”

Peter turned as the inner airlock opened, and found himself looking at a pissed off Yondu. “Hi!”

“Don’t you ‘hi’ me, boy!” Yondu surged out of the airlock, his face dark blue with anger. “What the hell-” He stopped and cocked his head, and Peter winced as the captain really listened to the engine. “What the hell did ya do to my ship?”

“He cycled wine into the reserve fuel after facing an emergency rupture after a crash landing.” Tyrion spoke evenly and naturally, as if he’d been talking about this stuff his entire life. Peter managed to only stare at him openmouthed for a moment before pretending he wasn’t shocked. It had only been twelve hours since they left the planet. _What was on that datapad?_

“Who the fuck are you?” Yondu moved so that he was staring down at the dwarf. Peter felt the urge to defend his friend but even as he opened his mouth, Yondu pointed sharply at him. “I’m not asking you, boy.” He glowered at Tyrion. “I’m asking _you_.”

“My name is Tyrion. I was a native of the planet Peter crashed on.” Tyrion met the captain’s hard gaze without flinching.

“I kidnapped him, so he’d help me.” Peter couldn’t help butting in. “He’s really smart. He got me all the wine.”

Yondu’s eyes started to flick back and forth between the two teens. Moving forward, he checked the computer’s log with a tap of his fingers. Peter held his breath hopefully; this was going well so far. “You boys flew home on booze?”

“Yes, sir.” Peter answered quickly, before Tyrion said the wrong thing.

He needed to have more faith in his friend. The noble had a way with people and his reply to Yondu was, “Yes, captain.”

“Huh.” Yondu looked between the two of them again. “Alright, boy, take her into dock.”

Peter practically swelled with excitement and pride. “Yes, Captain!”

Turning back to the controls, he eased the unnamed M-ship into her docking slip. Yondu stood behind him, watching Peter sweat buckets and offering zero advice about how to accomplish the maneuver. It wasn’t a perfect docking; he bounced the ship off the clamps twice before she hooked into place. Yondu grunted, “Now you gotta fix her paint job, too.”

Peter sank back into the seat as he cut the engines, wincing at the growling cough just before they fell silent. Yondu cracked the quiet with a sharp, “Peter, go find Kraglin. Tell ‘im ya need the tools to break down the engine and paint the hull.”

“Sure.” Peter slowly unbuckled his seat, glancing at Tyrion. “Hey, Ty, wanna come-”

“Nah, _Ty_ and I are going to have a little heart-to-heart about how things go here.” Yondu’s smile didn’t exactly making Peter feel better but he had little choice.

It took far too long to find the grizzled first mate and even longer to get back to the ship. By the time poked his head into the cockpit, Yondu was gone and Tyrion was sitting in the co-pilot seat, reading the data pad. “I see he didn’t eat you,” Peter said lightheartedly but his eyes were worried.

Tyrion looked up with a droll smile. “No, I convinced him I don’t have enough meat to make it worth his while.” He locked gazes with Peter. “You didn’t tell me everything.”

“Some things you gotta see to believe.” Peter gave him a soft punch on the arm. “Ready to get dirty?”

“Yes.” Tyrion unbuckled and climbed down, joining Peter in the trek down to the engine. “By the way, I’m not a Lannister anymore. It’s just Tyrion.”

Peter glanced back at him and nodded. “I can get behind that.” He cleared his throat and said awkwardly, “Wanna be a Quill? I’m the only one out here. Might be nice to have another one.” He’d wanted a little brother before his mother had died; maybe he would get one after all.

Tyrion drew in a shaky breath and looked away, rubbing at his eyes. “Yeah.” His voice was thick as he said, “Yeah, I’d like to be a Quill.”

“Cool. But I’m the only one who gets to be a Star Lord.” Peter threw Tyrion a challenging grin.

“Is that how it is?” His little brother playfully narrowed his eyes at him as Peter pulled off the first piece of the engine.

“That is how it is.” And Peter wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my strange little story. I wrote this based off of a LARP system demo I found at GenCon. They are responsible for inspiring this idea. 
> 
> If you want more of the Quill brothers, please say so in the comments! If I can get enough interest, I’ll tell more stories, including post-GotG movie. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please check out my other MCU fiction Redemption or my non-fiction work, City of Promise: http://bylightunseenmedia.com/cop.htm


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